Page 70 of Someone Like Me
I blink, managing to keep my eyes on the road, but just barely. “There are two girls who live there. Why do you assume it’s Evie?”
Annie makes the noise of a deflating balloon. “Easy. Because Tori Lalonde is a bitch.”
I glance over at her, all stoicism gone. “How do you know that?”
“Evie is just a couple of years older than me. We used to play together sometimes when I stayed at Grandma’s. Evie’s the nice one. Always has been. Tori is the mean one. I don’t see you going for a mean girl.”
I ignore her comment about what kind of girl I’d go for. The revelation that Evie and Annie know each other makes sense, but I would’ve never imagined it. I want to know more.
“How old were you when you used to hang out?”
For some reason, this questions makes Annie laugh. “Hang out? The first time I climbed the fence to go to Evie’s I was probably six years old.”
I rack my brain trying to even remember Annie at six, but I can barely picture her. I would have been thirteen or fourteen at the time. Busy cutting up with my own friends.
“It’s been years since I’ve talked to her,” Annie says, sounding thoughtful. “But I can totally see y’all together.”
The comment gives me whiplash. “We’re not together.”
“Why not?” Disbelief rings heavy in her voice. “She’s funny… easy-going… beautiful… She’s perfect for you.”
Sheisperfect. I won’t argue with that. But not for me. I shake my head.
“I’m not looking for a relationship.”
I feel Annie’s eyes as though they are boring into the side of my head, but I keep my focus on the road.
“Why the hell not? Unless you’ve been hiding some secret love affair with one of your cellmates, you’ve been single for areallylong time, Drew. Have you become a monk?”
I haven’t, but maybe I should.
“I’m not a monk,” I mutter.
“Then why not Evie? I’m not saying you have to marry her, but you should at least try dating again. Get back out there and start living a real life—”
A flash of Evie in a white dress and veil rattles so hard, I grip the steering wheel with white knuckles. “Not Evie.”
“Not Evie,”she mimics in a grunting voice, and I know without looking that she’s making that constipated face again. “Butwhy notEvie?”
God, I miss her. Just hearing her name wakes up my skin. The memory of her in my arms ripples down my torso like warm rain. I miss her company. Her happiness. Her depth.
Her laugh is weightless. Her good heart bottomless.
It’s Tuesday. I haven’t seen Evie in over a week — when she came to my door, and I had to grip the edge of the table to keep from standing, ripping the door off its hinges, and dragging her to my bed.
Hell, I can’t even imagine being the kind of man she deserves. Even in my fantasies, I play the villain. Keeping my distance is clearly the best I can do.
Beside me, Annie heaves an audible sigh, bringing me back to the now. My sister is obviously annoyed that I’m giving her the silent treatment, and since she’s done me a favor by driving me all over town, I feel a twinge of guilt.
“Ihavestarted to live a real life,” I defend, dodging her question about Evie.
Annie shifts in the seat beside me. When she speaks, her voice is low, but still betrays annoyance. “Working at the garage and taking care of Grandma don’t count.”
I cough, offended, and shoot her a glare. “How can they not count?”
“Because,” she drones. “That’s no fun.”
“Horse shit,” I say. “I love fixing cars, and I love Grandma.”
